


Forgiveness

by spinner33



Series: CM - Close to Canon [50]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Explicit Bondage, M/M, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2015-12-12
Packaged: 2018-05-06 08:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5409650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spinner33/pseuds/spinner33
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hotch and Reid make up after their fight.   Make up sex – one of the best reasons to fight with the one you love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The song lyrics are from 'Physical' by Nine Inch Nails.

“Forgiveness is love in its most noble form.” – Anonymous 

 

Barbara McFergus prided herself on the welcoming atmosphere of her bookstore. She kept her books very neat and tidy. There was always warm tea to drink and cookies to nibble, as long as one was judicious with the treats. Anyone who abided by her three simple rules was allowed to stay as long as they wished, those rules being to talk softly, to be kind to one another, to be gentle with the books. She also prided herself on the ability to distinguish when a customer wanted to talk and when they wanted to browse in silence, when they were looking for a book and when they were looking for refuge. Some of her customers has been frequenting her establishment since she and her husband and their three cats had opened the doors in the late 80’s. She liked to think it was because she made everyone feel at home, or at least she strived to do so. 

There were exceptions to the rule though. When a tall man with short dark hair and an anxious manner walked through the front door around 1 p.m. on Monday, the bell above the portal announced his arrival. The day was gloomy and dismal. Rain had been falling from overcast skies since mid-morning, making it feel like evening when the day was barely half gone. Barbara, Bubbles to her friends, looked up from the paperbacks she had been organizing, and gave the newcomer a small smile and a nod. But there was something about him which put her on the defensive. His shrewd eyes darted around in the nooks that he could see from the counter. He straightened his thin jacket and approached Bubbles, putting on a smile that was meant to be friendly, but which came out tight and stern. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he offered.

“How can I help you, sir?” Bubbles asked, keeping her voice soft and her tone civil. She couldn’t help the distrust that rose up in her stomach and tingled along her spine. This was a man of the law, and he was on the hunt. She could smell it on him like his smoky, masculine cologne. Her immediate, instinctual reaction was to not cooperate with anything that he needed from her, to stall him if she could, to delay long enough to find out who he was hunting. 

His dark suit and wingtips brought frightful echoes to her mind, memories of the civil rights struggles she had endured in her twenties and thirties, when she had been a less-calm, less-peaceful, less-patient woman. Men like him, with their black suits and silver badges and tight haircuts, had beaten and bloodied and openly attacked anyone in the District who was darker than café au lait coffee. No one who looked at Bubbles now saw the strident activist who had once marched and fought for racial and sexual equality in the stormy decades of the 60’s and the 70’s. They saw a kindly woman in her late 60’s who offered tea and quiet refuge. Anytime Bubbles met a man like the one standing before her, even to this day, the suspicion and fear of the law instilled in her during her turbulent youth rose up along her limbs like a nervous fire.

“Are you Bubbles? You aren’t what I expected from your voice on the answering machine,” the dark-haired man said. He was smiling at her again, a little wider than before. She trusted him even less.

“What were you expecting?” Barbara inquired, wondering again who he was. 

“Suzanne Pleshette,” he chuckled. Bubbles nodded. She was used to that. There were people who heard her polished diction, and they did not expect a black woman, even less a middle-aged black woman. In the fire of her youth, she might have spat back a witty and cutting remark about lawmen and racial profiling. Years of dealing with the public had offered her many lessons in patience, though. Her first response was no longer to throw the acid that raged in her stomach. Age taught wisdom, and wisdom brought patience. She dipped a hand into the Well of Tolerance, and took a long, slow drink before she replied. 

“How can I help you, sir?” she asked firmly but politely. 

“I’m sorry,” he responded, lowering his head. His smile disappeared. He could read her displeasure in her cool demeanor, and he hoped to make amends. “We’ve never met. I shouldn’t presume to be so forward with you, ma’am. I apologize. But Reid adores you, and he speaks in such glowing terms about your shop. It’s like a home away from home for him. I feel like I know you already, Mrs. McFergus. Hi. I’m Aaron Hotchner. Reid’s partner. Husband. I… I was hoping Reid might have come here today. Have you seen him?”

“You’re Hotch? Well, you aren’t what I expected either,” Barbara said, extending a hand, which he shook eagerly. Her words made his brow furl with concern. He did not ask what she had been expecting, because he was afraid she would actually tell him. 

“Reid wasn’t at home when I got home, and I thought maybe after speech therapy, he might have popped over here for a book or two,” Hotch persisted, waiting for an answer. 

A moment of decision was at hand. If she were a religious person, Bubbles might have said that God was testing her. Dr. Reid had indeed crept shyly into the shop around 11, looking tired and depressed, and thinner than she had seen him in a very long time. He hadn’t said much, had brought several bags of books that she requested, and had gone hunting for a peaceful corner so she could tend to other customers. When he wanted to be left alone, Reid headed for the fourth floor, to one of the garret rooms whose windows faced the street below but also offered a view of the city beyond. He had been known to hide there for hours sometimes, propped up in one of the antique wing-back chairs, either reading or snoozing or thinking.

Should Barbara tell Aaron Hotchner where Dr. Reid was? What if Hotch was the reason Reid was hiding upstairs today instead of going home to his own house? Bubbles had known Reid since before he was a doctor or a federal agent either one. She had known Spencer since one summer day in 1993 when this skinny, pale boy had crept into her store and stayed for sixteen hours straight. He had quietly, unobtrusively, and systematically read every book on the first floor that day. He had disappeared up to the second floor, and she had assumed he had left while she was helping someone else. The bell had dinged several times that day. 

Bubbles was horrified when she learned that she had accidently locked him in the bookstore overnight. The next morning she found him curled up in a chair in a second floor room, with a cat on his lap, a stack of books at hand, and a contented smile on his face. He hadn’t even realized how much time had passed, or that the store had been closed overnight. 

That year, Reid was in DC to take summer courses at Georgetown in between semesters at MIT. Reid had haunted her store like a hungry ghost, devouring as many books as he could, as he was systemically devouring museums around the city, taking college classes, and having other adventures. At first she had been astonished that such a young man was apparently on his own without adult supervision. She had debated calling DC Child Services, but instead, through conversations about books, Bubbles had befriended the malnourished, attention-starved boy. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, but that hadn't stopped her from looking after him when he was around, much the same way she had befriended all of her cats over the years. They too had shown up on her doorstep in need of a friend. She had fed them and loved them, and they had returned morning after morning, until eventually they had stayed. The amount of time it took to build trust depended on the amount of abuse each foundling had suffered. The joy Bubbles had felt the first time Spencer had hugged her had been akin to the delight she had felt the first time one-eyed Maya had let her stroke her matted, calico fur before the kitten had darted to a safe distance. 

1993 – that had been the summer after her beloved husband Charles had died in a car wreck, two years after her mother had had a stroke in her sleep and had never awakened. Having Reid to fuss over had taken Barbara’s mind off the devastating grief of losing the two most important people in her world. Her mother had been a household maid for a college professor from Cambridge. That professor had encouraged her mother to read and to learn, had tutored her in literature and arts and history and life. Barbara was the happy result of their lifelong relationship-- a bi-racial lovematch which today wouldn't have been seen as shocking, but which in her mother's youth would have raised eyebrows and hackles. Barbara’s parents had passed on their love of books and learning down to her. Barbara’s husband Charles had been a timid poet and a historical scholar who had reminded her of her father, a man she held in high esteem because of his kind and gentle nature. Charles had loved Bubbles as much for her mind and her spirit as for her beautiful smile. Thinking about Charles as he had been in their youth made Bubbles feel so much older than her actual age.

A whisper from a nearby nook broke the uncomfortable silence between Bubbles and Hotch, and decided the standoff between for them. 

“Hello there, Miss Maya. How are you today? Were you hiding in the science fiction section again?” 

Maya swished around beneath the extended fingers of the blonde woman who had reached down to pet her gently between the ears and lightly along her spine and tail. The one-eyed calico kitten with once-matted fur had grown into a long, lean caretaker who guarded the store and scanned the customers who entered. If they passed Maya’s inspection and approval, Bubbles knew she could trust them. Maya rumbled a greeting to this familiar patron, and twirled like a ballerina, allowing a second pass of the fingers before darting out of reach. The young woman smiled fondly at her as she left.

“Bye now.”

“Captain,” Hotch sighed with relief. Spaulding stood, straightened her shoulders, and greeted him. 

“Sir,” Amy nodded crisply as she snapped to attention and touched her heels together. It had been just shy of a salute, and it had raised the hairs on the back of Barbara’s neck. 

They all three watched Maya approach Hotch, sniff his trouser leg, and study his shoes and clothes with her good eye. Having suffered at the hands of a hateful stranger when she was a tiny kitten, Maya did not trust easily. Everyone got a long examination before she went too close. She had no doubt spotted the black and white fur on Hotch’s socks and pants from where Goody had said ‘good morning’ and ‘thank you, waiter’ while Hotch had given him breakfast. Hotch reached down. Maya tilted her head, and leaned an ear within reach, but only one ear, mind you. Hotch had to stretch quite a ways to caress a fingertip along the outline of Maya’s head. He hummed softly in sympathy as he studied her scarred face. 

“Hi, honey. Don’t worry. I don’t bite. I like cats. We have a cat at home.” 

Those words had been as much for Bubbles’s benefit as for Maya’s, that much Bubbles understood. Her cats were often the conduits through which people would speak to her or to each other in passing in the store. The door dinged, and two customers entered together. Bubbles recognized the teen siblings, and was grateful for the distraction, because she wouldn’t have to make any more small talk with Hotch. The bell had made Maya leap out of Hotch’s reach and scurry behind the counter. She climbed on her perch by the register as Hotch hurried over to converse with Spaulding. 

“Hi, Mrs. McFergus,” the two teen girls chorused as they hurried up to the counter and deposited their backpacks on the wooden surface. When they unzipped their bags, stacks of books fell out. “We’re back for more!” they exclaimed eagerly. There was nothing in the world that could have made Bubbles any happier—their hunger for knowledge made her burst with pride. Seeing the girls in their spotless school uniforms, with their hair in tidy braids, reminded her of when her own daughter Cecelia had been their age. Dr. McFergus was teaching computer sciences at George Washington University these days, so Bubbles had high hopes for these young ladies too. 

“Shelly? Lavonna? How’s your mother doing?” Bubbles asked. When Barbara glanced up again, Spaulding was sitting down in the romance section, and Hotch was opening the door to the staircase which led to the upper floors.


	2. Chapter 2

After they had had their shouting match on Saturday evening, Hotch and Reid had spent Saturday night sleeping in different rooms. They had spent Sunday avoiding each other. They did not exchange a single word the whole day. Reid had spent the rest of the weekend all alone in their great big bed, vacillating between burning fury, listless apathy, and muffled sobs. Hotch had spent a sleepless Saturday night on the sofa in the TV room. He had slept Sunday night on the settee at the foot of their bed. Spencer had been far too angry to acknowledge Aaron’s presence last night. Nothing hurt like being ignored from a distance of three feet! Hotch had not crawled in bed with Reid though, knowing Spencer was not yet ready to forgive him. 

They hadn’t eaten any meals together. Reid actually hadn’t eaten since Saturday evening. By late Sunday afternoon, Hotch had become downright anxious. He had wanted to break the silence but his pride wouldn’t let him do so. Hotch had paced around in the hallway. He had even sat on the threshold of the bedroom, staring intently at Reid as Spencer lay in bed, facing away from the door and towards the windows. Spencer had ignored Aaron, although his stomach growled loudly enough that they both heard it. It was amazing too how long Reid could refrain from using the restroom in order to prove a point, or to passive-aggressively show his displeasure. 

Standing at the doorway of the garret room where Reid was hiding, Hotch ached from head to toe with guilt and love. Reid was a gaunt whisper of a person, curled up in a wingback chair before the window, covered in gloom and unhappy shadows. His satchel was tucked at his feet. He was shivering in his sweater. He was hiding – there was no other way to describe his posture. He looked so unhappy that it broke Hotch’s heart. 

Food had lost its appeal for Reid, not that he had ever been big on eating. He liked to cook, but he didn’t like to eat. He tended to eat even less when he was upset and depressed. No amount of coaxing, persuasion, or downright badgering from Hotch seemed to help. If anything, it made Reid even more reluctant to take in nourishment. This morning before work, Hotch had fixed a big breakfast for Reid. He had left the tray at Reid’s bedside with a one-word, bold face, large print message: EAT! Reid had purposefully left that big tray of food undisturbed on the bedside table. When Aaron had come home early and found the tray untouched, he had been devastated. He understood what was going on. Reid was hurting, and he wanted Hotch to hurt too, and the best way to hurt Hotch was to hurt himself, and so, yes, Reid had let the food to go to waste.

Hotch crept closer, his steps careful, his gait slow. Perched beside Reid in his chair was another feline guardian of the realm. The big ginger with less than half a tail was giving Hotch an evil stare. Spencer’s head was tilted down, resting against the side of the back of the chair. His eyes were closed in troubled slumber. He was nibbling on his bottom lip as he dreamed. A book was open in his lap. One hand was splayed over the parted pages, and the other was resting on the ginger cat’s fur. 

Hotch tentatively sat down in the second chair which sat on the opposite side of the window. He judged that they were probably nineteenth-century antiques. This tiny attic room was dank and gray today, but he wondered what a beautiful button-hole of paradise it might be when the sun was shining here, spreading warmth and light. The ginger cat’s eyes narrowed, and his ears folded back when Hotch sat down. A low growl floated between the chairs, and the ginger cat impatiently thumped what bit of tail he owned. The hard stump banged against Reid’s hip, and Spencer’s amber eyes fluttered open. 

Hotch reached across the distance between the two chairs, wanting to put a hand on Reid’s arm or his knee, to touch him and reassure him so he wouldn’t jump in surprise. Big mistake. Hotch should have known better. The ginger cat struck with all the fury of a ninja assassin. He lashed out with one mighty paw, raked a set of steel knives over the top of Hotch’s hand, and dropped to the floor as a hissing, spitting ball of hatred. It took every ounce of Hotch’s willpower not to take out his gun and shoot this menace where he stood on the carpet between the chairs, his back arched and his fangs bared. Hotch wisely withdrew his bleeding, stinging hand as he backed away from the angry feline. 

“Malcolm, be nice,” Reid chided softly. The cat sneered at Hotch, and he deflated from his attack stance, but he wasn’t ready to kiss and make nice yet. Malcolm bounced towards Hotch and gave him another swipe of the claws before galloping from the garret room. Hotch checked for tears in his pants and socks, watching the bob-tailed ninja vanish.

“Let me see,” Reid said, as he offered his own hand. He retrieved a packet of anti-bacterial wipes from his satchel. Hotch slid his throbbing extremity into Spencer’s waiting grip, and winced as Reid dabbed at the bloody stripes. 

“Hi,” Hotch said, blinking back tears which he convinced himself were the result of the painful scratches, and not the relief that flooded through him over hearing the sound of Reid's beloved voice. Not so long ago, Hotch had been robbed of that voice for twenty-eight of the longest days of his life, and the fear of losing it forever made him ache deep inside. 

“Hi,” Reid echoed, his eyes rising for a second. “You’re off early, aren't you?” he commented as an aside.

“I went home first, but you weren’t there, so I came searching for you,” Hotch rambled. Reid held Hotch's hand to stop the bleeding. Hotch tightened his fingers around Reid's hand, and got out of his chair. He knelt in front of Reid and getting as close as possible to him. He wanted to throw his arms around Spencer and kiss him, but he didn't dare. 

“Everything all right at work?” Reid wondered. 

“I quit,” Aaron joked limply. 

“Very funny,” Reid answered, his mood somber and his voice soft. 

“No. I didn’t quit. I thought about it, but I didn’t. I spent all morning in meetings with the Brass.”

“Was Strauss there?” Reid shivered. 

“She was nowhere to be seen. But there was all kinds of screaming and excitement going on down the hallway. The higher-ups wanted to talk to me about you and the rest of the team, but mostly about you. They wanted to know all about your lunch."

“Why didn't they speak with Agent Washington, from the Fugitive and Criminal Apprehension Unit? Or the other agent who was there?" 

"I don’t know who they spoke with, but scuttlebutt has it that someone from the restaurant, either someone with you or one of the other patrons, phoned in an anonymous tip. They overheard your conversation with Strauss, and called into the FBI to report her inappropriate comments. Warned that if the FBI didn’t take action, they were going to go to the local news stations. I got the impression Erin might be in hot water." 

"Are you saying that to make me feel better?" Reid inquired skeptically. 

"No. I swear. It's the God's honest truth. Can I buy you lunch? Make amends? I’m sorry for what I said,” Hotch rambled, uncharacteristically nervous. 

“I’m not very hungry,” Reid lied, in a tone that said it was going to take more than a Reuben sandwich and a wee bit of groveling to make things better between them. “I think you’ll live,” he added, patting Hotch’s hand and letting Aaron draw it away. Hotch remained on his knees, leaning against Reid’s leg. 

“You didn’t eat a single bite of breakfast,” Hotch scolded carefully, pretending to pluck a cat hair off of Reid's charcoal gray sweater.

“I had some coffee,” Reid shrugged. 

“It’s almost two. You need to eat. We'll stop on the way home.” 

“I’m not very hungry,” Reid repeated, closing the book in his lap and hugging it to his chest. Obstinate anger arched Hotch’s spine and made the front of his hair stand up straight. 

“Don’t make me beg,” he rumbled, his frown pulling his smile away seconds after it had appeared. 

“Hotch….” Reid sighed. 

“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder and carry you out the door,” Aaron added deeply. 

Reid snorted softly, and a quick smile darted over his features. Hotch bowed his head. Had he gone too far? He reached over to touch the buttons on Reid’s sweater, running a finger down his chest slowly to bump over each button in sequence. The gesture sparked a tiny smile on Reid's face. He was nibbling his lip, watching Hotch's hand trace downward. 

“I don’t doubt you would, you great hairy beast,” Spencer whispered. Hotch leaned in and nosed a gentle kiss to Reid’s cheek. Reid straightened Hotch's collar and smoothed his hair. A smattering of giggles from the doorway made Hotch jump and stare that direction. Two teen girls raced out of sight. One of them leaned back a second later for another peek. Hotch scowled, and she disappeared again.


	3. Chapter 3

“They grilled me for hours, from the moment I got in this morning. Going over and over your evaluations from your therapist and your doctor, wanting to know if…. What?” Hotch stopped when Reid put a hand on his arm. They were plodding through Georgetown's busy, winding streets in Hotch's black SUV. 

“Turn over there. On your left,” Reid replied, pointing. 

“Yeah, okay. I kept telling them, you’re seeing the therapist. You’re going to the physical therapist."

"I was until he disappeared," Reid pointed out.

"You’re working with a speech therapist. You’re rebuilding your physical endurance, but that’s not going to happen overnight. You’re being evaluated on a weekly basis, and you’re close, but….Reid? What are we doing in a dead-end back alley in Georgetown?” Aaron asked as he came to a stop and put the SUV in park. Reid smiled to himself and stared out the opposite window. He slid a hand sideways and pulled the emergency brake handle. He cleared his throat and cast a furtive glance at Aaron.

“What?” Hotch joked. “Is this the point where, in an ironic twist of fate, you actually do go postal and kill me with your bare hands?” 

Hotch’s heart skipped a couple beats when he heard Reid’s seatbelt click and unhitch. The next thing Hotch knew, Reid was climbing into his arms, across his lap, smothering him with an unexpected, enthusiastic kiss. The leather seat squeaked like a child's balloon. Reid’s butt struck the horn. Hotch's upper limbs were waving about like paper streamers in a stiff wind until he decided it was okay to put his arms around Spencer's waist. Reid's fingers went down the side of the seat, and Hotch jolted backwards in stepped increments which rattled his fillings. 

“Aren’t we going to go eat?” Hotch panted softly between more glorious, sloppy kisses. Reid disappeared. He slid to the floorboard on his knees and buried his face in Aaron’s groin. “Oh, God. That’s not what I….what I meant….oooh,” Aaron gasped when Reid used his fingers to yank open Hotch’s belt and nimbly pluck apart the front of his trousers, and then used his teeth to pull down Hotch’s zipper. 

Hotch moaned out lustfully when Reid nosed in and freed Aaron’s aching cock. Reid dotted gentle kisses along Hotch’s warm, velvety skin. One flick of Spencer’s tongue along Aaron’s length, and Hotch’s knees wobbled. He shamelessly drew Reid between his legs, guiding his lover’s mouth where he wanted it, where he needed it most. 

Hotch moaned, "Reid...." as Spencer expertly swallowed him. Reid replied a moan of his own, arching up on his knees, burying his nose in Aaron’s nest of dark hair with each slippery suck before drawing out to the very tip, giving him a teasing flick, and going down on him again. He pulled away for a second, and Hotch complained. 

The steering wheel raised up at an awkward angle. Hotch felt stupid for not having thought of that himself. 

Hotch’s fingers clutched, grabbed, gripped at Reid's shoulders. Aaron ground his hips and squirmed to the edge of the seat. One hand reached up and petted Reid’s short locks, guiding him forward. That wasn't what Reid had in mind, clearly, as he nibbled around the crown of Hotch's member with feathery kisses.

“Don’t tease….oh….fuck......no,” Aaron pleaded. Reid relented, moved up and down over him, slowly and leisurely, pausing for a gulp of air before diving in, only to pull back again and trace his tongue barely against Aaron's tip, like a curious snake. 

“I am so gonna paddle you if you don’t stop….stop…. teasing…. me,” Hotch threatened. He felt and heard Reid hum a soft laugh deep in his chest. Reid continued to toy with him very cruelly. It wasn't often he had Hotch in a vulnerable position, and he was being vindictive today. Spencer pushed up Hotch’s dress shirt and undershirt, and left noisy, slippery kisses on Aaron’s abdomen, ignoring his leaking cock in order to torment him with puffs of air against his sensitive skin. Hotch whined and arched his hips, begging shamelessly for half a second before he barked Reid’s name sharply. Reid obeyed, opening his moist lips. Hotch grasped Reid’s skull with both hands and bucked upwards, watching his length disappear into Reid’s mouth and return again in a slow, wet tease.

"When I get you home….." Hotch moaned. A second later, Aaron yelped out as Reid grabbed Hotch's hips, and got down to business, as it were. It didn't take long at all before Hotch climaxed, desperate, filthy words spilling from his mouth as his seed splashed down Reid’s throat. It made Reid dizzy with lust and power, the way he could humble Hotch with this one small act. Aaron could read the wicked glee in the pleased smirk that twisted Spencer’s features. Reid drank Hotch dry, and caught his breath as he rested his cheek on Hotch's stomach. 

“Not that I'm at all unhappy, but what brought that on?" Hotch wondered, stroking Reid's hair. 

“Have I told you how much I like that tie?” Reid murmured nonchalantly as he pulled the two halves together and straightened them down Hotch’s front. Hotch pulled his pants together, smirking and shaking his head. His belt jangled as his hands shook. He could feel his cheeks flame with color. He fumbled sideways, pulling the back of his seat upright. Spencer was climbing up from the floorboard and back into the passenger seat when a door opened not two feet from the vehicle’s side. A portly Italian man with curly hair and a disgusted look shouted at them, waving a meaty fist. 

“You damned perverts, get the hell out of here!” the guy yelled. 

“Perhaps we’d better go,” Reid suggested. 

“Yes,” Hotch agreed, releasing the emergency brake and wondering for a flash of a second why the steering wheel was so damned high. He readjusted it, and put the SUV in reverse. He backed out of the alley and into the busy street. A delivery truck roared past them, honking loudly. Reid was snickering under his breath from the passenger seat. 

“When I get you home…..” Hotch warned playfully. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?” he wondered a moment later.

“Part of you is,” Reid replied coyly. 

“Only part of me?” 

“For now,” Reid replied, sliding a hand onto Hotch’s arm again, watching as Spaulding’s blue Nissan felt into step behind their SUV.


	4. Chapter 4

Make up sex – one of the best reasons to fight with the one you love. 

They made it into the house, barely. The garage door hadn’t even closed before Hotch had picked Reid up off the ground and carried him into the house while groping his butt and kissing the living daylights out of him. Reid’s long legs were wrapped around Hotch’s hips, and his long arms had a death grip on Aaron's shoulders and neck. One of Reid’s shoes fell off and landed outside on the cement stoop as the kitchen door banged closed. Spaulding cackled all the way to the barn, shaking her head in mock dismay. 

A variety of clothes were thrown all over the dining room and around the foyer. Hotch’s shoes were near the TV room, and his dress shirt was on the banister. Reid’s pants were on the stairs, and his boxers somehow got attached to the overhead light. No one was sure how they got up there, but they were sure it was going to require a ladder to get them back down.

Hotch dragged Reid to the mattress, tossing him down with enough force that he bounced. Hotch yanked the drawer completely out of the bedside table to get to the body oil. He whipped his handcuffs off of his belt. That was really the last thing Reid remembered clearly, which is saying a lot for a person with an eidetic memory. It was all a blur of teeth and hands, and kissing and groping. He might have bumped his head on the footboard a few times too as he and Hotch fought each other for dominance and they both won. 

Reid came to, sticky and sore, in a pile of hairy, sweaty limbs, some not his own. He nosed against the hairy arm under his mouth, nibbling, sucking, licking. Someone heavy and solid was on top of him, pouring love-laden words sweetly into his ear while sucking love bites into his neck. Reid realized with a chuckle that although Hotch was entirely naked, he himself was still wearing his shirt, tie, and sweater. Reid arched his hips backwards, and could barely budge Aaron. Hotch sat up, and scrambled to the end of the bed. He peeled off Reid’s socks and began to tickle the soles of his long feet. Reid rattled his hands where they were cuffed to the footboard. Hotch nibbled and sucked Reid's toes, laughing as Spencer squealed and kicked, and twisted about to get loose. Goody came to investigate the commotion, and the cat walked away, ears pinned back from all the noise. 

One long hot shower, a thousand kisses, and more than a few apologies later, Reid was back in their bed, lounging against the headboard. Hotch had buckled his favorite collar around Reid's high throat. The collar was attached to the bedframe by a long black cord. Reid was nestled under the covers where Hotch had commanded him to stay. It might have been chilly, wearing nothing but the collar Aaron had chosen for him, but the bedcovers were toasty where Hotch had been curled around him, keeping him warm. Aaron had disappeared downstairs a few minutes ago, as the gloomy afternoon was turning into an even gloomier evening. Spencer could hear noises in the kitchen, thought he might have heard a phone ring, but he did not get up to investigate. By and by, Aaron returned. He had his cell phone tucked up between his shoulder and his ear, a few stray articles of clothing tossed over his broad shoulder. 

"No, it's okay, Jess, really. Jack needs all the time with them that he can get. It's perfectly all right if he stays another night. Don't apologize. Jesus Christ. I want him to spend more time with your parents, all the time they want. They aren't going to be around forever, and I want him to have happy memories of them. Lots of happy memories. I want Jack to be happy. That's what means the most to me. Oh. Um. No. You all go out and have a good time. Reid and I will have dinner with everyone tomorrow night before John and your mom leave town, and we'll pick Jack up then. Give everyone our love. Bye."

Hotch set his cell phone on his bedside table. He was carrying a tray of food which rattled as he set it on the bed. He tossed the trousers and shirts to the side where the upper half of Reid’s clothes had landed eventually. 

"Up," Hotch commanded, giving Reid a sharp pop on the butt. "Up," he repeated, retrieving a fork and a bowl from the heavily-laden tray. 

"You cooked dinner?" Reid mumbled softly. "Oh, Master. I'm touched. You're so good to me." 

Hotch wanted to look stern, but all he could manage for the first few moments was burning shame. His eyes lingered on Reid's bruised mouth. Spencer ran his own fingers there, could feel the swelling. It would be gone by morning, as would the stiffness in his neck, and the soreness in his throat. Knowing that logically wasn't stopping Aaron from hating himself right now though. 

"Open," Hotch ordered, lifting a forkful of yellow mac-n-cheese. Reid obeyed, closing his eyes, opening his mouth. The cold fork slid across his tongue, deposited the food, retreated back out again. It was heavenly, if Spencer's pleased smile was any indication. This was the cheap, boxed stuff, the kind Reid loved best. None of that foo-foo gourmet macaroni and cheese. None of that sprinkled with bread crumbs, baked in a corning ware dish, six kinds of cheese, hunks of bacon, and other bullshit poured over unpronounceable, elitist pasta. This was plain and simple elbow-roni, swimming in milk and butter, and coated with yellow-saturated fake cheese product. Hotch knew exactly how Reid liked this dish, and he had delivered. Although, some hot sauce or jalapenos would have been nice too. 

"You didn't eat one damned bite of your breakfast. Not one damned bite," Hotch scolded.

"I'm sorry, Master," Reid whispered between bites. 

"You will eat everything I make for you from now on, or there will be consequences," Hotch warned. "Is that understood?" 

"Yes, sir," Spencer whispered, awaiting another forkful. 

Hotch picked up a hot pepper slice from a tiny bowl on the tray, and placed it tenderly on Reid's tongue. The sour vinegar and spiced heat made Reid squint both eyes closed and curl his mouth tight. 

"Too hot?" Hotch worried. He dotted his lips to Reid's scrunched lips, and tasted for himself. "That can't be too hot for you. It's barely a tickle of heat." 

"Not too hot," Spencer smiled. "But you need to wash your hands thoroughly before..."

"Mm hmm," Aaron laughed. "I know. Bite."

Reid opened his mouth again, sliding his fingers along Hotch's forearm in order to guide him.

"Hands down," Aaron murmured. The fingers retreated. Reid squirmed to find a comfortable sitting position. His tailbone and thighs ached, and his hips were marked with a horizontal bruising pattern already. Those must have been from the side of the bed? Hotch's eyes traced those bruises, and guilt washed over his face again. 

"What are your plans for me for the evening, Master?" Reid asked through a mouthful of food. There was a teasing lilt to the way he said the title, a wink and a nudge that amused Aaron as much as the use of the title turned him on. Hotch leaned over and kissed Reid's lips, and came away with a yellow-saturated blob on his mouth. He licked his mouth, took a bite of food, and gave Reid another. 

"I mean to fed you and let you sleep until you are rested, my pet."

"And after that?" Reid wondered anxiously. Hotch's eyes smoldered, dipped down Reid's face, his neck, the collar on his throat. He pulled himself in check though. He slid another forkful of food between Spencer's lips as a tiny smile played with his stern mouth. 

"I'm going to dress you up, and take you out. 'I want you on my arm, so soft on my bed. You got the key to my heart, when you wear that sweet vest'," Hotch was mouthing and humming his way through obscure song lyrics. Spencer's brain reeled from the harmonious purr against his cheek and in his ear. He gave a delighted peep of sound when he placed the words. It had taken a few extra moments because Aaron had remembered the words incorrectly, and had altered them to be gender-appropriate.

"I would have never guessed you were a Nine Inch Nails fan," Reid complimented him.

" 'I want your rough house, baby'," Hotch laughed and hummed. "I went through a rebellious stage too, like everyone else did. There's a lot you don't know about me, my pet." 

"I don't want to go out, Master. Can't we stay home? You and I? No one else around?" Reid whined and pleaded. 

"If it pleases you, yes," Hotch acquiesced. 

"Why bother getting dressed at all?" Reid wondered, staring at Hotch's pajama bottoms and teeshirt. He had laid a similar outfit for Reid on the dresser, presumably for when he woke up. 

"Because I like to dress you up, and I like to undress you. It makes me happy," Hotch whispered, kissing Reid's closest shoulder. 

"I want to stay like this, for you," Reid whispered back, unfolding his legs, sliding them on either side of Aaron, inviting him closer. Hotch fumbled to set the bowl and fork down on one of the bedside tables, to put the tray on the floor before Reid jarred it and everything spilled. 

"Would you like a rub-down?" Aaron asked. 

"No," Reid pouted. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to exhaust me, use me," he demanded, pulling Hotch down over himself as he stretched out beneath him on the bed, booting covers and pillows away. Reid opened his mouth to the kiss that Hotch ghosted over his lips. Aaron pulled away too quickly. 

"I made a special dessert for you," Hotch murmured. 

"But, Hotch......" Spencer panted, arms going up around Hotch's neck, clinging tightly. 

"Hands down," Hotch ordered. Reid whined softly. Aaron stroked along the underside of Spencer's arms, forearms, and hands while pushing the limbs up above Reid's head. "Stay," he added. Reid pined again. He watched Hotch go over the side of the bed, and he hoped Aaron would be digging around under the bed for toys, perhaps even the spreader bar. Alas, all Hotch came back with was dessert. He had dressed up the leftover cheesecake with cherries in a thick, red, faintly-alcoholic sauce. Reid struggled to sit up, and to hide his disappointment.

"Stay," Hotch repeated, his eyes devouring the sight of Reid as he lifted a spoonful of cheesecake and cherries and....oh, it was amaretto, Reid decided, accepting the bite. "Do you like it?" Hotch hoped. 

"It's wonderful. I love it. Thank you, Master," Reid replied, sitting closer and closer. Hotch fed him another bite. "I can think of twenty-eight different things. We could do with that sauce. If there's any left?" 

"You need to eat, and you need to rest," Aaron chided. 

"Hotch, I'm okay," Spencer murmured. "I promise." 

"Did I hurt your head?" Hotch bit back the words, his eyes misting. "On the footboard?” 

“No,” Reid laughed. 

“Are you sure?” Hotch worried. 

“I’m sure,” Reid promised. 

“I won't ever do it again. I promise. Oh God. I sound like every other abuser out there,” Aaron fretted. 

Reid put his hands up on Hotch's hands, lowering the dessert plate and the fork. 

"You are not an abuser," Reid told him, plainly and firmly. 

"I'm not? Look at you. Look at what I did to you," Aaron whispered, eyes falling. 

"Only everything I wanted," Spencer replied. 

"How can I make this up to you? See?" Hotch paused, shaking his head. "Like every other abuser, I'll promise I won't do it again. I'll give you gifts and treats to make it up to you, and I'll swear I can change."

"Hotch, look at me," Reid ordered. He bent forward and kissed Hotch's mouth. Spencer put the dessert plate aside before they spilled it on themselves or on the bed. "What's the matter?" Reid worried. 

"This is so unhealthy. I shouldn't like this. I shouldn't want this." 

“Why should you feel guilty? Because you enjoyed enthusiastic sex with me?” 

“I handcuffed you to the bed and practically molested you,” Aaron whispered, blushing with shame. 

"Practically?" Reid rasped and displayed a truly wicked smile. 

"Fuck you," Hotch muttered softly, sniffling and laughing both. "The things you can make me do. It scares me sometimes." 

Reid nibbled on Hotch’s mouth, and let the lust burn in his eyes. 

"I’ll let you know if you ever get out of hand,” Reid promised. 

Reid sat up on his knees and stroked Hotch's hair. They sat silently curled up together for a few moments, reduced to nothing more than Reid's gentle stroking and Aaron's soft breathing against Spencer's cheek. Hotch's hands rested on Reid's sides, slid along his ribs, falling down to his waist. 

"Am I forgiven yet?” Hotch pleaded. 

“Yes,” Reid nodded, legs wrapping around Hotch’s middle.

“Can I take another picture of you in this?" Aaron pleaded. He snagged the D-ring on the collar with one finger and growled in Reid's ear. 

"If it makes you happy," Reid quivered. 

"It would make me very happy," Hotch replied, his smile beginning to return. "Would you care for more dessert, my pet?" he rumbled, hand going backward for the plate again.

“Yes, Master, I would,” Reid answered, taking that grasping, hairy hand and pushing it unabashedly against his naked mid-section before he yanked Hotch's teeshirt off over his head on one quick tug. 

“My, aren’t you subtle?” Hotch chuckled, shoving Reid down against the bed and nibbling over his chest. Spencer brought Hotch's fingers to his mouth, and they both began to suck in tandem.


End file.
